Chasing Away Nightmares
by lostinspacexx3
Summary: He knew he shouldn't think like this...but, he couldn't help it. What else was he supposed to think? Non-explict Slash.


Hey guys, well I wrote this after watching a Bones marathon... (: Enjoy. Review, if you'd like.

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><p><strong>Title :: <strong>Chasing Away Nightmares.  
><strong>Disclaimer :: <strong>I do not own Bones.  
><strong>Summary ::<strong> He knew he shouldn't think like this...but, he couldn't help it. What else was he supposed to think? Non-explict Slash.  
><strong><br>Warnings ::** very light slash, past child abuse.

_The deep gashes on his back stung, warm blood dripped down his sides._

_Smack._

_Another whip snapping against his back made him yelp in pain. He collapsed against the floor from his all-fours position, bare chest against the cold concrete of the basement floor._

_"Please..." The whimper came out barely audible. The dark figure above the teenager laughed, slamming the leather strip right back into him. Another yelp - resulting in another slam. The punching came next, kicking, slapping, more punching, more kicking. The words and phrases shouted were just repeated from the night before._

_Worthless. Mistake. Accident. Useless. Good-for-nothing. Disgrace. Should-be-dead. Stupid. Unloveable. Disgusting. Weak. _Nothing.

_A never ending cycle. His body was dragged up from the floor and slammed hard against the wall._

_"_You'll never escape_."_

_The cold tone of the whispered words matched the cold, emotionless eyes before him. An evil smile spread across the dark figures face before another hard punch came in contact - square in the chest, knocking the air right out of the young boy._

-x-

Lance Sweets bolted straight up in bed, unable to breath, his hand immediately clutching to his chest. His body temperature was uncomfortably high, his shirt feeling like a second skin. Pain still rivited through his back. He swore he could still feel the blood dripping from those welts. Words,_ that voice_, still haunted his ears. He was shaking even though he felt overheated. He checked the clock, sighing; it was after two in the morning.

"Baby...?" The whispered voice came from beside him, sleepy. "Bathroom. Go back to sleep." He quickly whispered back, climbing out of bed quickly as his lover's hands tried to pull him back into an embrace. A tired grunt fell from the other's lips, snuggling back into the bed to get back to sleep.

Sweets discarded his sweat soaked shirt into the hamper before stepping out of the bedroom quietly. The cold air in the hallway hit his skin, able to take his temperature down a few degrees - which he was thankful for. Bare feet padded against hardwood floors as he made his way downstairs.

He stood in the kitchen, sipping his glass of water as he stared out the window over the sink. His mind was slipping back into the visions of his nightmares, of his past.

He still felt hands on his skin, holding him down and covering his mouth. They'd prevent his screams, prevent his ability to fight back. Fists leaving dark blue and black bruises, sharp knives breaking skin as he was cut, scarred. He could feel the pain in his bones, just about each one being broken atleast once before. The heat of the flamed orange tip of the metal bar as it left bruising and burned skin, branding his skin. The razor strip, the leather belt, whipping against his back and sometimes upper legs. He could still see that room. The concrete walls, his back being thrown into them from across the room repeatedly, his chest being pushed against it. The chains that stayed on his ankle to keep him in place when he was left alone, locked in - not that he could move around much anyways. The nights he wished he would just bleed out or stop breathing and die already, just get killed, get it over with. The nights he wished things would end, whether he ended them himself or someone else did. The nights he wanted to stay 'unconscious'...forever.

He glanced down at his scarred chest and upper arms. Bruises long gone but the memories still there. The shallow knifed gashes along his hips and v-line were faded into thin white lines, healed burn marks scattered lightly over his torso leaving raised, but faded, skin over time. He didn't even want to think about what his back looked like.

He looked terrible, he knew it. How could anyone like...this? It was monstrous. _He_ was monstrous. He couldn't understand it. How could anyone care about him? Love him? Want him? That's just it. No one could. He knew he shouldn't think like this, he was a psychiatrist afterall. He knew those things said to him, done to him, were just to make him think there was no saving him, make him think there was no escape, but...he couldn't help it. Forget all the psychiatric crap for abuse cases, what else was he supposed to think?

Now he shivered, slightly regretting being shirtless this time of night.

A pair of soft hands on his hips brought him quickly out of his thoughts unsuspectedly, making him jump a bit and gasp. "You said you were going to the bathroom." The tired voice behind him sounded concerned. Fingers skimmed over the thick elastic band of his plaid pajama pants and the skin on his hip bones. Sweets looked down, tears threatening in his eyes as those fingers got dangerously close to those old knife wounds. Lips softly touched the back of his shoulder blade, right on top of a set of scars, making that first tear fall and a small sob escape his lips. He quickly put his hand to his mouth to cover it up, but it was a failed attempt. Those hands turned him around quickly, staying on his hips. "Baby...? What is it?"

Sweets looked up into the soft green eyes of Seeley Booth for only a moment before feeling guilty and his look casted downwards once again. One of his hands left Sweets' hip and fingered through his dark hair, dropping to his cheek to wipe away the tear, then falling lingeringly back down his chest to his hip. "Talk to me." He whispered. The FBI Agent took the water glass from his boyfriend's semi-shaking hands and placed it on the counter behind them. "_Please_." He begged.

Finally Sweets looked up, a frown tugging at his lip, but he tried to hide it away. Booth pulled him into his arms, completely protecting him. Sweets clutched to the soft fabric of the tshirt infront of him as his head fell to Booth's chest.

They stayed silent for a little while until Booth's hands started ghosting soothing circles over Sweet's back. The moment fingertips touched the raised skin of his scattered scars across his back Sweets tried to move away. He was trapped between the counter and the body of his trying-to-be-caring lover. Booth pulled away enough to look at the younger doctor.

"Lance?" He asked. His eyes pleading and showing the obvious concern he had in his heart. Sweets closed his eyes as Booth's hands left his back and wiped away the few tears that remained on his cheeks. "It-t's nothing." He lied, obviously. Booth didn't need to be an FBI Agent to see that one. "Do _not_ even try."

Sweets' eyes filled with tears once again. "I'm sorry." He whispered. The Agent looked at him confused, trying to figure out what was going on. The doctor softly pushed at the other man, breaking free enough to walk past him.

Booth reached out, quickly turning him around. "Whoa, whoa, whoa." He said as he pulled at Sweets' hips to bring him closer. He turned them around so Sweets was between him and the counter once more. "What's wrong Lance?"

"I...it was...just a nightmare..." He said. "About?" Booth asked. Sweets looked down, silent for a while before he found the courage to speak. "M-my...um...my...father..." Another sob escaped his lips and he was immediately pulled into the comforting arms of the Agent.

"It's okay, it's okay. It was just a nightmare. You're alright. I'm here." He soothed. Sweets resumed to clutching to Booth's tshirt. He shivered as he was hug became tighter again. "What happened?" Seeley asked. Sweets shook his head, showing he wouldn't talk about it. Booth just held him tighter. "Please babe?" Sweets stared into his eyes, they were begging for an answer.

It took the doctor a few moments before being able to respond. "I...I was back in...that room...and he...he was there...I could hear his voice...and I could still feel his hands..." Sweets looked down, distracted as his fingertips traced over a pair of burn marks located directly under his ribs; replaying the memory. Booth followed his hands, now knowing what this was about.

He quickly gathered the doctor in his arms. "Oh, Sweets..." He said, the broken look on Sweets' face pulling at his heart.

Booth softly kissed him. "I love you." He whispered against Sweets' lips. The younger man's eyes looked up, wet with a new line of tears. It wasn't the first time he had heard the sentiment...but, in the back of his brain those repeated insults were rising up; becoming insecurites. "Do...do you...mean that?" He asked tentatively. Booth noticed the desperation in his eyes. He definitely knew what was going on now. Sweets must've thought he wasn't good enough; wasn't deserving - which was not true. "Of course I do, I always have." He said, kissing him again, passionately. If the kiss he had gotten didn't prove it then Sweets could see the truth of those words in Booth's eyes. He fell against the FBI Agent's chest feeling secure, feeling safe. Booth met his eyes before leaning down and kissing an old scar of stitches on his shoulder that traced towards his collarbone. Sweets couldn't help but hug him after that.

They shared another kiss before Booth dragged him back upstairs and into bed by hand. Sweets rested against him, wrapped up in Booth's arms under the warm covers. He was loved, regardless of his past, what was he thinking? Seeley Booth meant the world to him, _everything_, and he had a good idea that those feelings were mutual.

Booth spent the rest of that night chasing away nightmares and kissing every one of Sweet's scars that laced over his chest and back, worshiping them, making sure that Sweets knew he was beautiful, loved, and would always be cherished, making sure he would never forget it.


End file.
